


Your Job or Mine

by DawnsEternalLight



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Family Bonding, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Injury, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-04 05:10:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12162180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnsEternalLight/pseuds/DawnsEternalLight
Summary: Bruce will always help, even if it means he might not make it home. Dick isn't sure he's okay with that.





	Your Job or Mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [audreycritter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreycritter/gifts).



_ Come on, Bruce. Where are you?  _ Dick thought as he glanced at the crowd for the tenth time that night, and still couldn’t find the man. On his first few examinations, he’d assumed Bruce to be lost amidst the still panicked people, streaming out and into a large group to wait in the cold outside the concert hall. 

It was easy enough to miss one man in a group like that. But it had been well over an hour since Nightwing and Red Robin had finished off Scarface’s men, and the police had restored a bit of order to the group. An hour of eyes raking across faces that he’d seen, and seen again, but never showed the one person he was looking for. 

Dick had sent Tim on ahead to look for Batman. It was possible Bruce had left the party early, or had changed during the interruption then gotten caught up in something else. Tim’s job was to make sure his not checking in with them was because of a choice for radio silence and not an injury. Dick stayed behind in case their father had never suited up at all. 

His gut told him that was the case, it also told him something was wrong. As Bruce Wayne, he should have been first to try to calm the crowd, or at least featured prominently within. It was rare that Bruce stayed behind and didn’t try to help. 

The question was, what help had made it so he wasn’t with the main crowd?

Dick gave up on sweeping the assorted socialites and ducked back into the concert hall, keeping out of the way of the police taking control over the scene, and pushed his way further back. 

He found them in a side hallway, lights half out, the quiet sobs the first indication anyone was even there. A woman, sat huddled with two little boys, pressed into her lap, both children crowding the space, but neither willing to release their grip on her as they cried. 

The moment the woman saw Dick she tightened her grip on the two children in her lap for a moment, before recognizing him. Her white knuckled grip eased, and the sobbing in her lap cut off as wide eyes turned to stare at Dick.

“Are you alright?” Dick asked. 

She nodded. “We’re fine, but he needs help. I-” she broke off, shushing one of the boys, who'd begun to stirr. “We had no idea what was happening, and I didn’t want to leave him. He saved us.” 

She cocked her head towards a figure, leaned against the wall beside her, half in and out of the hall and another veering deeper into the building. 

Dick hurried forward, his heart in his throat, and knelt by Bruce, fingers going instantly to search for a heartbeat as he spoke, “The situation’s calm enough that you can head out, the police will want a statement, but you’re all safe to leave.” 

He glanced back to see the woman nod, and scoop the boys into her arms as she stood. 

“Thank you.” she said, seeming to hesitate. 

“He’ll be fine. I promise.” Dick assured, against the lump in his throat. 

“Tell him thank you, please.” she said, and hurried past.

He turned back to his father, wishing he’d asked her to stay and explain more of what had Bruce in this condition. The half light showed bruises already blooming against his skin, one eye swollen to the point where Dick was fairly sure it wouldn’t open even when he was conscious. There was a bruise on the back of his head, but nothing else that seemed obvious. Still, Dick was fairly certain the visible wasn’t what had Bruce out cold, not this out at least. 

He was debating risking moving him when there was a groan and Bruce’s good eye fluttered open. His gaze was distant, and confused. Dick was pretty sure he had no idea where he was. 

“Hey,” he said, gently. “I need to know, is anything broken? Can I move you?” 

He was hoping the direct question would push through any of Bruce’s current confusion and spark an answer. 

The man groaned then managed, “Ribs, cracked, maybe broken. Take me home.” His voice came out hoarse, the words weak from lack of the full amount of air making it into Bruce’s lungs. 

Dick nodded, and hoisted one of Bruce’s arms over his neck. The movement seemed to jar confusion back into Bruce and he struggled against Dick’s hold for a moment.

“It’s okay, B. I’ve got you.” he said, “It’s okay.” 

At his voice, Bruce calmed down again, and sighed, his eyes slipping shut again. 

* * *

The beeping of a machine woke him, pushing him back into a world of fogged pain and heavy memory one shrill note at a time. Bruce kept his eyes pressed shut against what he knew would be lights too bright to bear just yet. 

Everything hurt, a dull, numbed kind of pain, but pain the same. His body felt heavy, weighed down and sluggish, sleep calling him back to a realm where he could float and where pain was a memory. Yet, some pressing matter nagged at him, pulling at his consciousness, in time with the beep beep filling his ears. 

His eyes flickered open, against the light, his heart speeding up to match the machine, or the machine speeding to match his heart, and he gasped.

“No, stop!” his brain flooded with images to match the pain across his body a moment before he tried to jerk up from the bed. 

A hand caught his chest, away from the soreness, and Dick’s face flooded his vision. 

“Bruce, Bruce, it’s okay, you’re fine.” 

The urgent worry in his oldest’s voice prompted him to lay back, taking in a breath. “The kids, the woman. Are they?” 

“All safe, the mother wanted me to thank you for her. She said you saved them.” Dick told him. 

Bruce let his head fall back against the pillow, eyes closed against the cave lights above. “Good, that’s good.” 

He let them open again, realizing belatedly that one was swollen. “They were unharmed?” he asked, flitting his attention back at Dick, who’d sat back down on the chair, Bruce guessed he’d been at all night.

He nodded. “Much better than you.” With that, something in his face darkened, prompting Bruce to reach a hand out for his. Dick didn’t take it, he let his fingers curl in on themselves.

“We looked for you. All over.” Dick said. “You couldn’t have sent a message? Or turned your phone on?” 

Bruce grimaced. He’d shut off the device for the night, more at Alfred’s insistence than anything real. Take a break, relax, let the family handle the night. Because that plan had worked out so well. 

“I was on my way out.” Bruce promised. “I had to stop.” 

He wanted Dick to understand what he meant. How he couldn’t simply run past the woman and her children, not with the terror on their faces or the way the gangster had been approaching them. That smile on his face, the one born of Gotham’s darkest corners had sent ice through Bruce’s veins.

“You’re an idiot.” Dick grumbled instead. “You know that?”

He reached back out for his son who let him take his hand this time. 

“It was our job tonight to take care of them. You were supposed to stay safe.” 

“Dick, I had to. You know that. Better me than anyone else.” Bruce started. 

He knew his son understood. Knew he’d do the same thing in Bruce’s place. But he also knew how he’d feel. The words would be the same, only coming from him instead. His tone would be harsher, full of the pain he couldn’t seem to hold back when his kids were hurt. It was his fault, when they were hurt, in uniform or out. He’d pulled them into this world, and any pain gained from it was on his shoulders. If he was hurt because of it, well that meant no one else had that, or the guilt associated with it. 

Dick stood, pulling his hand away.

“No. Don’t do that.” the tone was harsh, and angry.

Bruce opened his mouth to argue, or lie, or both, but Dick cut him off. 

“Damian’s holed himself up in his room with his pets. He won’t even let me in.” the words were unexpected, but cut just the same. “Jason left the moment he knew you were stable, Tim close behind to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid, they're both home now at least. Cass came back, knuckles bloody and only let Steph calm her down. I sent Alfred up to bed an hour ago almost by force.” 

His son was pacing the length of the cot, hands fisted at his sides. “For tonight you don’t get to play the martyr game. It was our job, Bruce. Ours.” At this he stopped to look Bruce in the eyes, and Bruce caught the red lines cutting through the white, and the bags under his eyes. 

How long had he been out, he wondered. How serious were the wounds? Everything hurt, it was true enough, but had there been further complications? Or was the family simply shaken, and angry that he’d been gone as himself? What pain had he caused his family, in trying to prevent the same in another?

He hated that it hurt to move, it would stop him from seeing each one of them out tonight to reassure them. But, he could start with Dick, at least, and attempt to soothe some of the hurt he’d caused.

“Come here.” he said, holding his hand out again. “Please.” 

Dick crossed his arms, and even went so far as to take a step back. 

“Dick, please. I can’t do it this time, I need you to come to me.” 

The plead in Bruce’s voice must have been enough to convince his oldest. After a moment of hesitation his son took up his offer,  moving close enough for Bruce to snatch his hand again, and pull him near. The cot was far too small for what he wanted, or for it to be comfortable, but he pulled Dick’s arm again, reaching his free one to pull back the blanket covering him. 

Dick took his meaning immediately, and climbed into the bed, pressing as close to Bruce as he could without making him wince or pushing either of them off the cot. Bruce wrapped his arms around his son and pressed his face into his hair. 

They stayed like that, silent for a few minutes, with the beeping of the heart monitor, and the flutter of wings to keep them company.

“I hate you.” Dick said, voice ragged and tired. “I hate you so much.” 

Bruce rubbed circles into his back, and Dick seemed to press closer to him. The words hurt, though Bruce felt they were no less than he deserved, even if Dick didn't mean them. He was angry, and sad. Hurt by finding Bruce in the position he had. Bruce knew that, and refused to hold the words against him. Not when they were said in a thick voice, choked with held back tears.

“I hate how good you are. How you just have to help. I hate it.” he said, voice catching. “Why can’t you just be?” 

One of Dick’s hand’s pounded weakly against Bruce’s chest, as he spoke. The movement expanded the ache in him, physically and internally. He hated that he'd hurt him, the whole family. If he could, if one day he reached the right point, he'd make sure none of them hurt. That none of his actions hurt them, and that they were safe. For now, all he could do was comfort, and let Dick pour out the pain inside him. 

“It was our turn.” this came out as a sob, as the hand tangled in Bruce’s shirt, a loose tee they must have changed him into at some point. “Ours.” 

“I know.” Bruce murmured, into his hair. “I’m sorry.”

He pulled Dick closer, and those hands wrapped around him as hot, wet tears started to soak through his shirt. 

“It’s okay.” he whispered, “It’s okay.” 

He lost track of how many times he said the phrase, each iteration seeming to pull more out of his son, before Dick slumped against him, a deep breath whooshing out as he calmed. 

“Thank you.” Bruce said, after a moment.

Dick hummed a questioning sound in response.

“For taking care of everyone. You did good.” 

A head shook against his chest, and Bruce wondered for a moment if he’d have to correct him.

“I shouldn’t have needed to.” 

“I know.” Bruce sighed. “I’m sorry.” he said, again.

Dick settled against him, snuggling into him, despite their already cramped space. “I’d do it again. As many times as you need.” 

“Thank you.” Bruce pressed a kiss into his hair. “And thank you for staying with me.” 

“Always.” Dick told him, through a yawn. 

Silence fell again as Bruce held his son, his breaths smoothing into a deep even rhythm, until Bruce was almost sure he was asleep. He pressed another kiss into his head and let his own eyes slip closed again. The soft whisper of, “I love you too.” the last thing he heard before he was out. 


End file.
